The dildo in my mouth moved in me as Astrid rode, sighing “Oh fuck!” My nose was in her crack, I couldn’t get away, but the big dildo in my pussy was banging my clit and pounding my vagina, and I was awash in humiliation, sensation, and arousal. I clutched my keys hard. My body was winding up; I was about to come.
“Stop!” said Master.
Astrid stood up and stepped back. Mr. Watanabe pulled the dildo out of me. All sensation stopped. I made protesting noises down in my throat and thrashed in my ropes, jangling my keys, but there was nothing I could do to make them go on. I was completely helpless; I wanted to touch myself, but couldn’t move my arms.
Master came to me, naked, cock erect. He stroked my hair, kissed my forehead, and said, “Rebellious slaves don’t get orgasms, Famula. We’ll take a little break and then go on with the punishment.”
My four Doms stood off to the side and talked among themselves, low so I couldn’t hear, casting occasional glances my way. I don’t know how many minutes passed: they weren’t in a hurry. But finally they came back, and Mr. Watanabe and Ai adjusted the ropes so my hips were higher than my head. Mr. Watanabe got between my legs, rolled on a condom, and rammed into me—I tried to forget him and concentrate on Ai, who was riding my face this time, her soft pubic hair tickling my chin, her ass so beautiful. Astrid stood beside me and tweaked my nipples; lightning bolts leapt between my pussy and her fingers. Master stood nearby, looking on—my need was unbearable, and I was about to come again.
But they stopped and took another break, stood aside, chatted for a while, and ignored my thrashing and whining.
They did it again and again in all kinds of combinations, the women fucking my face, or my pussy and ass with dildos, the men fucking my pussy and ass, or jerking off my facial dildo to stimulate my mouth. Again and again they brought me near orgasm, again and again they stopped, and I couldn’t cry out or do anything but writhe and twitch in my ropes—the keys hurt my palm, I was clutching them so tight. By the time they stopped, my exhausted body was humming with frustrated energy. It was humiliating to be so needy in front of strangers.
Master unfastened the dildo harness—it seemed I’d been wearing it for hours—and I let the keys fall and said, “Please, Master, I need to come, let me come, Master, please.”
Ai said, “She’s still willful, thinking of her own pleasure instead of her Master’s.” She and Mr. Watanabe adjusted the ropes so my legs were drawn up, knees bent, pussy and ass exposed.
Astrid came to stand between my legs, holding a little leather cat. Her face shone with excitement. Brushing my pussy lightly with the cat, she said, “You want to be a better slave, don’t you, Famula?”
“Yes,” I sobbed, “I want to be good.”
She raised the cat and brought it down between my legs. It was a light blow, but it stung, and I twitched in my ropes. She hit me again harder, and I cried out and tried to close my knees, but I could hardly move, I was caught in their web. She hit me harder—I heard the slap. It had stung before but now it burned, and I cried, “Stop! Please!” but that wasn’t my safeword. She hit me harder and I cried “No!” a drawn-out wail, but that wasn’t my safeword either. As she found the rhythm and intensity she wanted, the slaps resounding in the dungeon, I was forgetting the rest of my body and all the world, and my whole being was fiery pussy. I had to be screaming but I couldn’t hear myself, and in a second I was going to come—at least there was that.
But she stopped. I cried, “No! No! No!” I flailed violently, trying to escape the ropes, but they held fast.
Now Ai was standing between my legs holding a lighted candle. She said, “You’re still thinking only of your own sensations. You must forget yourself. Here’s your Master: give him pleasure and ignore the pain.”
Master came to me, his cock enormous, engorged, and lustful. He picked up the keys and put them in my hand again. He stood above my head, ran his fingers through my hair, looked into my eyes, smiled his kindly smile, and said, “Open your lovely mouth, Famula.”
I opened my mouth wide as he straddled my face and put one hand behind my head. With his other hand he guided his cock into my mouth, just a couple of inches. He paused a few seconds—I could feel the pulse in him—then thrust in hard, cutting off my air, bruising my throat. My eyes teared up as he thrust into me, holding my head in both hands, grunting with the strain of it, balls slapping my nose. It hurt, the pressure, the battering, and I knew he was owning my pain together with my face, mouth, and throat.
And then my pussy burned as Ai dripped wax onto my mound, onto my clit and into my slit. I was already raw from the whipping, I wanted to scream, but I had no voice because Master’s cock was stopping me up. I held my keys and remembered to think of him and his pleasure, even as I gasped around his cock. With each drip the pain burst like a rocket, flared and slowly faded into warm pleasure. My body convulsed as Master thrust cruelly, his excitement building as he watched Ai torture my pussy.
I couldn’t ignore the searing pain blazing through my body. But I could sense their happiness, Master’s as he panted and groaned, cock plunging, Ai’s as she exclaimed “Aa!” at my spasms and moans, and Astrid’s and Mr. Watanabe’s as they stroked themselves nearby. The last thing that flashed into my mind, as I dropped into subspace, was that this scene, all the things they were doing to my body, my pain and humiliation, these things weren’t about correcting me or even about punishing me, but all about their pleasure.
And it was like sunlight flooding into this dark dungeon. Their delight in my torment, in my twisting and choking and gagging, my welts and red skin, my frustration and bottomless unmet need, filled me with a joy so great, it was like this place was heaven and I’d become an angel.
They were all coming, Master deep in my throat, the others grinning and masturbating as they looked on, and I still hadn’t come, but I didn’t care now—I loved my Master and I loved them all.
They untied me and let me drop to the mat. I couldn’t even stand, but just lay curled up and listened to their talk.
Mr. Watanabe said, “You must never allow an infraction to go unpunished. That only encourages more serious infractions.”
Ai said, “She’s a fine slave, but a slave of this kind requires frequent correction to keep her unruly tendencies in check.”
“I agree,” said Astrid. “If you find you’re not punishing two or three times a week, that probably means your rules are too lax.”
“And the best punishment for this slave is surely corporal,” added Mr. Watanabe.
“It appears that we’re all in agreement here,” said Ai. “Strictest possible enforcement of rules and liberal use of corporal punishment is likely to produce the best results with this slave.”
So it was Master they’d corrected and not me. A rivulet of my wetness trickled over a thigh as Master said, “Thank you all for your friendship and thoughtful recommendations. I’ll certainly do as you suggest.”
By the time they were done talking, I was strong enough to wobble along behind them, up to the foyer, where they hugged, kissed, and said goodnight. Ai glanced at me briefly and smiled, and I melted inside. Her smile told me so much: that I existed for her and for them all, and their play tonight had been full of love for me. They’d organized their whole night around me, and the pleasure they’d taken in playing with my head and my body was the greatest gift they could have given me.
Master closed the door behind them and said, “Come with me.” He led me to the kitchen and had me sit at the bar while he heated some leftovers from Astrid’s dinner. He sat next to me and fed me with a fork. The food made me think of Astrid’s pussy—the look and cunty smell of it. I shuddered and gazed into Master’s kind eyes as he fed me, and that drove Astrid out of my head.
He led me upstairs to his bedroom. “Lie on the bed,” he said, and I obeyed his command, happiness surging inside me.
“Open your legs,” he said. He sat beside me on the bed, bent over me, and carefully removed the solidified w
ax from my mound, my labia, my clit, and all inside. He did it tenderly, knowing that his every motion was stimulation. I watched his face as he worked, concentrating, expression serious.
When all the wax was gone, he stood and undressed. I could hardly look at him, tearing up for happiness.
“You’re a beautiful woman, and a good slave,” he said.
“I’m a bad slave,” I said; “I’m rebellious.”
“Don’t argue,” he said, caught my legs, and pulled me towards him till my pussy was at the edge of the bed. He knelt on the floor, pushed my legs up, and teased my outer labia with his tongue. I was so raw and sensitive that I responded instantly, squirming and sighing. I rested my legs on his shoulders, let go of my emotions, and cried. As he kissed me inside, I cried for love of him, for the sweet sensation of his gentle tongue and his soft lips, for the soreness of my body and my pussy, and for the beauty of this night and this moment.
When he sensed I was going to come soon, he climbed my body, entered me, and fucked me slowly and gently, considerate of my raw flesh, till I came, crying “Master!” my body finding blessed relief after such a long day of frustrated arousal. His cock throbbed and spurted, I could feel it, and I was completely his slave.
He held me then and said, “Do you understand that I love you, Emily?”
I thought he must love me, to bring so many people together to punish me so harshly. I said, “Yes, Master, and I love you more than all the world.”
He said, “I still haven’t punished you for what you did with my place setting. It’s a good thing tomorrow’s Saturday. It may take a good part of the morning.”
I was too full of joy to speak.
“I want you to sleep in my bed with me tonight, Emily,” he said.
“Master, I—”
“It’s a command,” he said. “Don’t argue.”
I sighed and lay still. I listened to his breathing till it became regular, and then I let myself relax and fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter 10. The three Masters
Probes and nipple clamps on again, dialed up to high. He’s going to kill me, holding that vibrator to my clit.
“Fuck,” I moan.
How long have I been here? An hour? A week? I was a good girl, made my parents proud. He said, “How do I pay what I owe?” They never even frowned, even if they didn’t like Bobby much. Small-town valedictorian, so smart. I remember that place. Playgrounds, parks, they let me run. I used to daydream about being arrested and handcuffed. I smiled a little smile and said, “Tie me up.”
“Pee,” I say.
“What?” he says.
“Got to pee.”
All that passive aggressive shit, better he hit me with a baseball bat. Great student, lab work always perfect, even if I looked silly with that purple streak. “. . . and make me safeword,” I said. They thought I’d be happy if I was free. They didn’t know shit about me. He grinned and said, “You think I can’t.” Give me the third degree, slam me up against a wall. Running like crazy, I’m only just getting acquainted with myself.
The vibrator buzzes louder, and he presses it hard against my clit. “You can piss whenever you want,” he says.
“No—”
“. . . but I can,” he said. I know who he is. I chose him. I didn’t think he could.
I don’t recognize this place.
* * *
That same night, I dreamed that five men were gang raping me. A few days before, I’d watched an online video with a porn star pretending to struggle while five men slapped and spanked her, filled all her holes at once, called her whore and slut, and degraded her in awful ways. I’d been horrified and fascinated, and I’d wondered what it would feel like to be that girl. In my dream, I was that girl, but I really was trying to get away, not pretending. They held me and tore into me—mouth, pussy, and ass—with grotesque cocks like huge tree branches. I couldn’t fight or escape, and when they came they just kept coming and coming on my body, and their cum rose all around me, a viscous tide, till I was drowning in it. I woke up gasping for breath, saw Master sleeping peacefully beside me, and was comforted.
After breakfast next morning, Master took me to the dungeon and paddled me soundly for setting his place wrong the night before. As I lay in his arms afterwards, he said, “Why don’t you go out and do something fun? Go to some stores and spend a lot of money. Stop thinking about Master for a little while.”
“I never stop thinking about Master,” I said. “But I’d like to go shopping.”
I didn’t want anything, but it was nice to visit the stores and see what the big-name designers thought I should be wearing. I wandered through Saks, admiring the displays and being ignored by the sales staff, till I stopped short near one of the counters in the vast perfume department. Was that Andrew behind the counter, holding a little bottle and talking earnestly to an elegant middle-aged lady? I hung back and watched. There was no mistake. That was definitely Andrew, holding the lady spellbound. I moved a little farther away and browsed a few of the nearby displays, praying that a salesperson wouldn’t approach me before he was free.
Fortune smiled on me. The lady paid for something and moved off, and I approached the counter while Andrew was putting the sample away. As he straightened up, I said, “I’m looking for something kind of narcissistic and self-destructive. Got anything like that?”
He stared for a few seconds, and it occurred to me that I’d been a mousy brown-haired college girl last time he’d seen me. I was fooling myself if I thought a little makeup, hair dye, and ink could make me beautiful.
“Emily,” he said. “How are you?”
“Good,” I said. “And you?”
“Good.” He didn’t look good. He seemed to be turning green.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I must be like the memory of a nightmare.”
“No, no,” he said, recovering a little. “It’s great to see you.”
“Do you have a coffee break coming up?” I asked. “It’d be nice to catch up.”
He brightened a little more. “Actually, I get off in a half hour. Meet me here?”
He led me the short distance to the Starbucks at Rockefeller Center, where he ordered a latte for me and black coffee for himself. We found a table, and I took a good look at him. I found I remembered him accurately—especially those penetrating gray eyes. He seemed as dangerous as he’d ever been.
He told me he’d taken a year off to work and plan his life, and now he was rooming with friends on Morningside Heights and getting ready to begin graduate study in Classics at Columbia.
“You’ve graduated, of course,” he said. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m still pretty devoted to my kinks. I’m living with a man—a Master—down in the Village. My parents are totally in despair about me. I’ve become this disreputable tattooed girl with an expensive education and no ambition—whatever happened to their sweet, clever daughter?”
“She’s gotten more beautiful,” Andrew said, and turned red.
I blushed too, and said, “Thanks. But you had a point about me, you know? I’m going to have to get on with my life soon. I’m really happy, but eventually I’ve got to start a career, or at least get a job.”
“You had a point, too,” he said. “You’ve got to get on with your life, like everyone else, but there’s no law that says it has to be a vanilla life.”
We were quiet. We’d come too close to forbidden territory.
“So what about you?” I asked. “Have you met the love of your life yet?”
“Not yet,” he said. “I’ve been out with a few women, but I haven’t clicked with any of them. For a few weeks last winter I actually thought I had a relationship, but she dumped me.”
“Too bossy?” I asked, smiling.
“She didn’t say,” he said, “but I have a suspicion. It’s an aspect of my personality I need to work on.”
“Or not,” I said. A little ripple of pleasure rolled thro
ugh me.
He was still in touch with friends I’d lost track of, and he filled me in on the gossip. Then we fell into an awkward silence. I wondered if we inhabited different universes now, or if we’d just run out of topics that weren’t minefields.
He said, “Do you think we could stay in touch? I mean, if I wrote you an email now and then, would you answer?”
“I think so,” I said. “I can’t keep any secrets from Master, so it’d have to be all right with him.”
“I’ll write to you,” he said, “and you can just tell me if I shouldn’t do it again.”
Walking along 50th Street to catch the subway back to Grove Street, I skipped every few steps. He was still so Andrew—ordering me a latte without bothering to ask what I wanted. I hoped he’d follow through on his promise to email, and I hoped Master would let me write back.
I was so preoccupied with thoughts of Andrew that I was halfway up the front steps before I noticed the figure huddled in Master’s doorway.
“Amanda!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
She tried to speak, but burst into tears. I took her inside, led her to the kitchen, sat her at the bar, and made tea. Finally she collected herself enough to say, “They’re not renewing my contract,” and then broke down again.
I set her tea down and sat next to her. “Why?” I said. “Did they say?”
Again she could hardly speak. “They took over Pipit,” she said. “She’s their new toilet slave. This was like five days ago. I couldn’t stand her. She was so mean to me. I told Mistress, and I thought she’d make her go. But today she told me I’d have to move out instead. I was so ashamed, I couldn’t wait for the contract to end at the end of the month. I just left.”
“Do you have any place to go?”
“She said they’d find me a place, but I don’t think I can live by myself.”
“Poor baby,” I said, and hugged her. “But how did Pipit end up with them?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Master and Mistress invited her and Master Frederick over to dinner, and they played with her in the playroom, and Mistress took her to the bathroom—”
Manhattan Kink: A Boxed Set Page 17